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"In this world, nothing is given, only taken by those with the power and the will to do so. Today, we honor a man who embodied what it is to be Noxian, a man who would never be denied victory, even by death."
"I remember clearly the day he died. Our hated enemy had marched on us in force. They stood at our walls, ten soldiers fielded for every one of our own, their craven king hiding behind his army to witness us scoured from the face of Valoran with his own eyes. While others counseled me to bar the gates and force our foes to fight for every inch of Noxian soil, this man demanded we march out and face them. He would not cower behind the city walls while Noxus' enemies still drew breath. With our warriors at his back, he strode as a giant through the Demacian rabble with one clear purpose: to cut their army's head from its body."
"Jarvan's royal guardsmen believed they could halt his charge. They were wrong. He cut them down, one by one, until only he and the king remained. Battered and fatigued, any lesser man would have given up the attack, but he was a true son of Noxus. He battled Jarvan beyond the point of breaking and was finally bested... but not beaten. With his dying breath, he locked his fingers around the king's throat and broke the will of a nation."
"Every Noxian should look upon this memorial and know this is what I demand of you: if you die, do so gloriously. Make the world falter at your loss."
Seeds of Doubt
Thorn: "The Grand General puts on a brave face, but he takes this loss harder than he lets on. With his most trusted supporter dead, he feels the treacherous eyes of his generals on his back."
Petal: "A successor must be chosen. Demacia's shaken. We can't squander this opportunity!"
Thorn: "Darkwill sees assassins in every shadow; he is paralyzed by fear."
LeBlanc: "No. He is stalling. Darkwill did not become the Grand General by being a coward. Find out why."
Petal: "Darkwill's thralls are searching for something. Snatching up articles of the arcane: rituals of blood and bone, relics of the Shadow Isles, and things darker still."
Thorn: "He desires things we can offer. An interesting opportunity."
LeBlanc: "I will bend his ear. If he is receptive, ensure we can provide what we promise."
Citizens of Noxus!
- Our forces stand assembled, while Demacia's lie leaderless.
- The time to strike is now!
- By order of the Grand General, we will march on the morrow.
- With the butcher of Jarvan at our head.
- Bear witness!
Darkwill: "What did you do"?
LeBlanc: "Provided you with what you desired, nothing more."
Darkwill: "This is not what I desired!"
Darkwill: "Look at him! This... thing has no place at the head of an army."
LeBlanc: "Not as a leader, no. But your friend was never so much a leader as a killer. And he has never been more perfectly suited to that role than he is now. He does not fear, he does not question - he does not die!"
Darkwill: "Damn you. I have no other choice."
To the office of the Grand General,
- There is no doubt the revenant is an effective weapon. It almost razed the fortress at Andras singlehandedly. However, it's also responsible for nearly as many casualties among our forces as the Demacians. The thing seems to feast on the very act of slaughter. It took a company of heavy infantry to subdue it this time, and it's only getting stronger, hacked to pieces or no.
- The toll on morale has been heavy. The soldiers find it disquieting to see one of their heroes turned into a monstrosity. It causes them to contemplate how they might be rewarded for their own service. I've had to cull three score regiments for refusing to march aside the thing in battle. I fear the situation will only get worse with time.
- Respectfully, Grand General, some things are better left buried.
- Access to this memorial and the surrounding area is hereby forbidden without express permission from the Grand General.
- Violators of this order face public execution.
Bridge to the Past
- Excerpts from the journal of Grand General Swain
- A shame Keiran failed to enjoy his father's longevity, not that he'd have been able to enjoy the high office at all had I not designed it. The Grand General's chambers harbor many secrets. My secrets now.
- The elder Darkwill was well versed in the art of necromancy. It will take me decades to pore through his library of grimoires, but that will be time I can steal, as he did.
- I made a discovery today, one of Boram Darkwill's first dabblings with death magic. It seems he was attempting a resurrection of some sort. But whose return was he seeking?
- The previous regime was exacting in its manipulation of the historical record, but there is just as much a story to be told by what's missing from the record as there is by what remains.
- I found it. Deep in Old Noxus lies a memorial that speaks of former grandeur and a fall from grace. Therein lies the man Boram Darkwill attempted to rouse from his eternal slumber.
- It's still in there, clawing at the walls. I would almost pity it, if I thought it capable of suffering.
LeBlanc: "I haven't had the pleasure of your company for some time, Grand General."
Swain: "You have my favor. That is enough."
LeBlanc: "After the last charade? Enough that you should be very mindful of how you use it. Whatever you intend had best be brief."
LeBlanc: "It sounds as if you have one in mind."
Swain: "Let me show you."
"We've come full circle: a Grand General in need of a champion, the Black Rose seeking to wind its roots further into High Command, and a fallen warrior starved of battle. This time, it will be different. Boram managed to revive the body successfully, but all he got was a mindless beast with a single instinct: to devour life. I can't fix a thing so broken, but I can rekindle its purpose, and that may be enough for my plans. The ritual is prepared, and the body still hungers."
Want. Aching. Need!
Close now. They come.
No chains? Free! Kill!
In reach. Yes! Die! Die!
Gone. Too quick. No fight. More. I want... more.
A voice? Unfamiliar. I see him. The Grand General. My general.
He leads. I follow. Marching. To where? I should know. I can't remember.
It all bleeds together. Does it matter? Noxus conquers. The rest? Trivial. So long... since I've tasted victory.
The war wagon rocks. Rattles. A cramped cage. Pointless ceremony. The waiting. Maddening. Faster, dogs!
There. Banners. Demacians and their walls. Cowards. Their gates will shatter. Thoughts of the massacre come easily.
Who gave the order to halt? The underlings don't answer. No familiar faces. If I do not remember, neither will history.
The cage is opened. Finally! No more waiting. We charge!
Slings and arrows? The weapons of children! Their walls will not save them!
I can taste their fear. They shrink at every blow as their barricades splinter. Soon!
Noxian drums. Demacian screams. Glory isn't accolades; glory is hot blood on your hands! This is life!
A thousand shattered corpses lie at my feet, and Demacian homes burn all around me. It's over too quickly! Just one more...
The men stare. There's fear in their eyes. If they're afraid to look upon victory, I should pluck those craven eyes out. There is no fear in the Grand General's eyes, only approval. He is pleased with this conquest.
Walking the field with the Grand General, surveying the carnage, I ache for another foe. He is hobbled, a leg wound from the battle? If it pains him, he does not show it. A true Noxian. I do not like his pet, though; it picks over the dead, having earned nothing. His war hounds were more fitting company.
Demacia will be within our grasp soon. I can feel it. I am ready to march. The Grand General insists that I rest. How can I rest when my enemies still live?
Why do we mill about? The waiting eats at me. I'm left to my own devices. The bird watches. It's unsettling. Were it anyone else's, I would crush it.
Fatigue sets in. I've never felt so... tired.
Boram? Is that you? What are you whispering?
Where am I?
Captured? Kenneled like some dog. How?
There was... the battle, the razing of the fortress, the quiet of the aftermath. Were we ambushed? I can't remember.
I was wounded. I can feel the ragged gash... but no pain. They thought me dead. Now, I am their prize. Fate is laughing. I will not be caged! They will regret sparing me.
Demacian worms! They parrot kind words, but they are ruthless all the same. This place is a dank pit. They bring no food. There is no torture. They do not make a show of me. I am left to rot.
I remember my finest hour. I held a king by his throat and felt the final beat of his heart through my tightening grasp. I don't remember letting go. Is this your vengeance, Jarvan?
I hear the triumphal march. Boots on stone. Faint, through the dungeon walls. The cadence of Noxian drums. I shall be free. Demacian blood will run in the streets!
No one came. I heard no struggle. No retreat. Did I imagine it?
There is no aching in this stump. I barely noticed the iron boot. It's caked in rust.
When did I lose my leg?
I still smell the blood. Battle. It brings comfort.
The hunger gnaws. I have not slept. Time crawls. So tired.
So dark. This pit. I remember. Grand General. His whispering. What was it?
Not who I think.
Fading. Mustn't forget.
Message. Cut. Remember.